


Trailblazing

by slrandomperson



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Flirting, M/M, Overdose, Patrick’s a cashier and it’s cute, Suicide Attempt, Walgreen’s AU, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slrandomperson/pseuds/slrandomperson
Summary: Patrick works a modest job at Walgreen’s. He doesn’t think there’s anything special about him, certainly nothing that warrants daily visits from a cute guy. He would find it kind of weird if it weren’t for this guy’s flattery and incredible charm.





	Trailblazing

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS - see tags
> 
> Catch me on Tumblr @ sophie-m-leo

Patrick was trying to pay his way through college, which is why he found his twenty-two year-old self working the evening shift at Walgreen's. But there was another reason that he kept coming back to his migraine-inducing job at that disgusting building with his annoying loudmouth of a coworker, Brendon, who didn't even try to hide what he and his boyfriend were doing in the bathroom all the time.

That reason happened to walk in the door at that very moment. Patrick glanced up at the clock: 8:39 p.m., on the dot as usual. He always walked in, every single weekday for six months, at 8:39 p.m. exactly. Every day, he would head up to the counter and grab a pack of something, usually mints or gum, without looking at what it was. He would just grin at Patrick and watch him ring up the item, and for the first few weeks Patrick wondered what in the world one guy could possibly want with fifteen packs of gum in twenty days. Then one day, when Brendon was waiting at his register and Patrick was helping another customer, the guy waited in Patrick's line. Brendon said nothing about it, even though he wasn't helping anyone and could have rung him up faster than Patrick. That was when Patrick realized the guy was there for him.

The guy (Pete, Patrick had figured out—the name 'Peter' was in bold capital letters on his debit card, and the only thing Patrick could make out in his messy signature was the lack of an R at the end) threw a box of Altoids on the counter and burned holes through Patrick's skull as he rung up the mints. With a grin, Pete leaned forward a bit. "So, Patrick, how's it going?"

Patrick had noticed that Pete seemed to thoroughly enjoy saying his name. "Pretty good over here. Backbreaking work, though," he joked, and he was glad that Pete shared his stupid sense of humor. It seemed like they could both laugh at literally anything.

"Nice, nice. Well, tell your mom last night was fun."

Rolling his eyes, Patrick handed Pete the Altoids and made him sign the receipt. He pretended not to notice Pete's obvious effort to 'accidentally' touch his hand. "Tell your dad that I understand he can't get it up sometimes; next time will be better."

Pete raised his eyebrows. "I think that's the first risque thing you've said to me."

"It's the first risque thing I've ever said, period." That was pretty much true; Patrick was the literal definition of 'blushing virgin.'

Pete laughed, and Patrick couldn't help but smile at how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he did, and dear god Pete's laugh was cute. It was one of those things that some people found incredibly ugly while others thought it was absolutely gorgeous. "See you around, 'Trick!" He left the store with a slight skip in his step, and Patrick made sure to take note of that because something was definitely different. Risque was good, then. Okay.

However, nothing could have prepared Patrick for when Pete turned up at 8:41 the next day (the first time he'd ever been late) and dropped a thirty-six pack of Trojans on the counter. The big kind. Like, the really big kind.

Patrick tried to hide his face behind the register as much as possible to conceal his blush, but it was definitely not working. He opted for conversion instead of heavy silence. "Planning a fun night, I see."

"On the contrary, actually," Pete said, setting his phone on the counter next to the, uh, _items_. "I'm planning on going home, sitting on my couch in silence for a few hours, and then going to bed disappointed."

"And why is that?"

"I do it every night."

"Oh really? Okay, I'll bite." Patrick handed the receipt to him, getting out a pen so he could sign. "Why?"

Pete smirked. "Because I spend those few hours trying to figure out why I haven't gotten a number from you yet."

Patrick almost choked on air. The pen slipped out of his hand, fell on the counter and rolled onto the ground next to Pete. His face flushed red as he tried to stutter out a comeback. "Yeah, well, I, uh, um...Fuck."

Laughing, Pete bent down to pick up the pen, and Patrick swears that he wasn't _trying_ to look at his ass, but it was right there and the opportunity struck so why not? Pete fiddled with the pen and leaned on the counter. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were just checking me out."

Patrick wanted to die. "I was _not_."

"Whatever you say, 'Trick." Pete pushed the pen off the other side of the counter, and Patrick stared at it on the ground beside him. "Oops."

Frowning, Patrick glanced back up at Pete. "Turn around."

"Excuse me?"

"Turn around, Pete."

Pete smiled. "Wow, he knows my name!" he gushed jokingly before turning around. Patrick kept an eye on him as he bent down to pick up the pen.

"Sign the fucking receipt." Pete smirked again and scribbled his stupid signature on the paper, grabbing his phone and the box and swinging his hips as he left. What a fucking tease. Brendon just smiled knowingly down at his register.

"Say anything and I will fuck you up," Patrick threatened.

Brendon grinned. "I'd gladly accept the invitation, but I'm not sure how Ryan'll feel about that."

The next day, Pete showed up at 8:36. He wasn't as punctual as usual lately; Patrick wondered what was up with that. He watched as Pete walked to the back of the store to the pharmacy, something he had never done before. After a few minutes, he came back with a bottle clutched in his fist, and he threw a bag of chips on the counter. His smile seemed a little tired.

"Hey, you okay?" Patrick asked.

"Fine," Pete said softly. They said nothing else as Pete signed the receipt and left the Walgreen's.

It was 9:54 the next night, right before Patrick was supposed to close up. He was beginning to think that Pete would never show, but just then, he walked in. His hood was up and he went to the pharmacy, heading straight for the exit as he came back. Patrick grabbed his keys and hurried to the door, reaching out and touching Pete's shoulder. Pete whirled around, holding a slip of paper close to his chest with tears in his dark eyes.

"Whoa, are you alright, man?" Patrick stepped closer to see if Pete was okay, but he just spun around and shoved the doors open, running out into the lot.

Patrick's mind was all over the place on Friday night, when Pete didn't come in at all. When 10 o'clock hit, Brendon said a quick goodbye, shooting Patrick a pitying glance as he left. Patrick locked the door behind him, making sure the pharmacy's lights were still on as he made his way to his car. But as he looked around the lot, he noticed a car he had never seen before. It wasn't Gerard and Frank's—the pharmacists—as their car was parked right next to Patrick's.

Curious but a little terrified, Patrick carefully made his way to the mysterious car. He saw someone in the window, and as he came closer he noticed that it was Pete, and then he saw that Pete wasn't moving. Patrick broke out into a sprint, dropping his bag and keys on the pavement and yanking on the door handle. He banged on the window for a while, the tears streaming down his face glowing under the street lamps.

Slowly, the window rolled down. Pete was blinking and mumbling something and looked like he was about to pass out again, so Patrick opened the door from the inside and dragged Pete out of the car. He was sweating and clutching something in his shaking hand, and Patrick peeled back his fingers to find a half-empty pill bottle.

"Shit, Pete, what did you do?"

"P-Patrick?"

Patrick nodded and pushed Pete's hair out of his eyes, pulling his phone out of his pocket and typing in 9-1-1 just in case. "I'm gonna' take you to the hospital, alright?"

"Took t-too many, took a l-lot, I..."

"I know, Pete, I know." Patrick pulled Pete to his own car, carefully helping him into the passenger seat. Patrick hopped in and started up the car.

"Am I gonna' die?"

Patrick's hands tensed around the wheel. "Not on my fucking watch."

"I don't want to die." Pete closed his eyes.

"Then don't," Patrick said, coming to a stop at the light in front of the Walgreen's. Pete's head lolled back as he drifted off. "Pete, no." Patrick shook him awake, turning Pete's head to look him in the eye.

"You're not gonna' die." Patrick kissed him, just for good measure. It was long and needy and Pete pressed forward into it, and then the light turned green and Patrick pulled away.

Pete grinned and leaned against the window, not opening his eyes. "At least now I can die happy."

Patrick's grip on the wheel tightened. "You're not gonna' fucking die."

Knuckles bone-white, heart ticking, foot tapping, mind reeling as he waited. He was alone in the room except for one sad, lonely old woman across the aisle.

"Is he your boyfriend?" she suddenly asked.

Patrick flinched and stared at her. "What?"

"That boy in there," she said, nodding to the door. "I saw 'em bring him in."

"He's not, uh, not my boyfriend. Just a friend." Patrick couldn't meet her eyes.

The woman hummed, obviously not believing him. "That's what I said when I first met my husband."

Patrick fought back an eye roll. He barely knew Pete, just thought he was cute, and sure, they had flirted, but it was just a stupid little game. "Yeah, well, I don't know him all that well. Where's your husband?"

"Oh, he's been in there for a long time. Hours, I think." She smiled sadly. "I don't expect he'll be coming back out."

"Oh. I'm...I'm so sorry."

The woman sighed. "Don't be, really. It's his time. Really, it's mine, too. I'll be on the other side of those doors soon, probably. But you," she said, gaze intensifying, "you will not. And don't let _him_ ever get back there again. You hear me, kid? Don't let him get back there again."

Patrick just smiled politely and turned away, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. What was he doing? He should just leave and make them get Pete's emergency contact. Yeah, that's what he'll do. Patrick headed for the front desk.

"Sorry, honey," the secretary said in her condescending voice. "The information on his papers lead to an invalid number."

"What do you mean, 'invalid'?"

"Oh, well, let's see." She pulled out a paper and scanned for the phone number on one of the lines. "Ah, here. It's, uh, it's the number for a Walgreen's down town. Which is technically presenting erroneous information a legal document, so he'll be facing a fine for that."

Patrick's palms got sweaty. Why would Pete's emergency contact be that _fucking_ Walgreen's? He had only been going there for about six months, so why did he trust that shitty place with his life? And then it occurred to Patrick that maybe he didn't have anyone else.

"How much is the fine?" he asked.

The secretary looked up. "Pardon?"

"The fine. How much?"

"One-hundred fifty."

Patrick nodded. "And who do I pay?"

"It will be included in the medical bill."

"And how much is that?"

The secretary sighed. "Honey, you can't just pay for this guy's mistakes. It's not your responsibility."

"How. Fucking. Much."

She winced at Patrick's language and typed something out on the computer. "See for yourself." Patrick's eyes landed on the screen and his eyes went wide at the cost.

"Okay, um...How do I change the billing address?"

This was either the kindest or the dumbest thing Patrick had ever done.

Patrick waited for a while. The sun had come up when he jolted awake, blinking the sleep away. Rubbing his eyes, Patrick turned to see Pete sitting next to him.

Frightened by the sudden presence beside him, Patrick jumped and half-whispered half-yelled, "Holy shit," making Pete smile a little. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back against the wall, but he was grinning and Patrick wanted to slap him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Patrick yelled, jumping up from his seat. Other people in the waiting room glared at him with watery eyes and trembling lips.

Pete's smile vanished as he stood, too. "Dude, I don't—"

"Well? Come on, you don't _what_? Finish that sentence, I fucking dare you," Patrick spat, arms flailing angrily. Pete looked around at the people staring at them and bit his lip, grabbing Patrick's arm and pulling him outside. The bright sun nearly blinded Patrick, but that didn't stop him from yanking his arm away and growling, "Let go of me, you fucking..."

And then Patrick began to cry. It was more like uncontrollable sobbing, to be completely honest. He leaned against the wall and held his head in his hands, Pete standing awkwardly in front of him. "You...You can't do that to me, you can't just leave me wondering what happened, okay? You can't leave your dying body in the parking lot for me to find! You can't do that to me!"

"I'm sorry, I'll pick a better place next time," Pete said through bared teeth, curling his hands into fists.

"No." Patrick wiped his eyes and glared at Pete. "There will be no next time. You scared the shit out of me, you know that? You kept saying you were gonna' die, Pete. I thought you were going to die."

Pete looked down and rocked on his heels. "But you told me I wasn't. And I believed you. That's why I'm still here. If you had left me in that lot, I'd be dead."

"That's what I'm saying! Imagine what would have happened if I didn't find you. You would be _dead_ , Pete. And I...I don't know what I'd do if you..."

"You aren't responsible for me, you know. You don't have to do this. You didn't have to—"

"I had to," Patrick said.

Pete looked up. "You told me I wasn't going to die. I didn't. You told me I wasn't going to die, and then you—" He suddenly stopped. Patrick stared at him through the blur clouding his vision. He could just make out Pete's white-bright smile. "And then you kissed me." His fingers brushed his lips as he remembered the previous night's events.

"I did. Your point?" Patrick asked, jaw set.

"My point," Pete said, stepping a little bit closer, "is that I may be a little bit in love with you."

Patrick's next sentence was just a cluster of incoherent words and exasperated noises, so he tried again: "You don't know me."

"I know that you're caring and sweet and thoughtful and fucking adorable and you saved my life, so I think I should be allowed to be in love with you, just the tiniest bit." Pete was grinning and he was really close now, breaths puffing right against Patrick's lips.

"Oh, um...okay," is all that Patrick could think to say, because the next thing he knew, he was pressing forward and the only comprehensive thought in his head was _lips lips lips hot hot hot wet wet wet fuck fuck fuck._

And then Pete was kissing back, hard. He pushed Patrick back up against the wall, gripping the collar of his shirt with a tight fist. Patrick shoved his thumbs through the loops on Pete's skinny jeans, pulling him closer. He barely knew this guy, but _god_ he was a good kisser and he was funny and he listened to Patrick and cared about him and damn he was _hot_.

Pete pulled away and their lips parted with a satisfying pop. Patrick kept his eyes squeezed shut as he thought about his grandma taking a bath and a cow being slaughtered and somebody chopping his dick off because Pete was pressed up against him and they were way too close. _Think unsexy thoughts, unsexy thoughts, breathe, breathe, oh god._

But when Patrick opened his eyes, it took all of his willpower to not pop a massive boner right then and there, because Pete's lip biting thing was getting way out of hand and Patrick found him way too hot for his own good.

"If I went through all this and still don't get your number, I'm gonna'—"

"What?" Patrick snorted. "What else could you possibly do to me?"

Pete smirked, and his dark eyes swirled with everything that means trouble. "I could do a lot of things to you." Now, Patrick was doing everything he could to tell himself that wasn't a euphemism, but it was awfully hard to lie to himself when Pete Wentz's eyes were hungrily traveling up and down his body.

Now Patrick was driving Pete back to his apartment, both of their phones heavier with one more number. And as Patrick shamelessly checked out Pete's ass from his place at the bottom of the steps across the sidewalk, Pete turned and grinned. "Call me, P. Don't leave me hanging." Patrick called him that night. At lunch the next day, Patrick learned that Pete carried a fondness for poetry, punk bands and making Patrick blush.

And both of them learned that falling head over heels for someone didn't take very long.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry I haven’t been posting lately, I’ve been working on some bigger things. Drop a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed <3


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